Thirteen
by sandra70
Summary: Snow just wants to make sure that Emma is truly happy, but her methods are causing her daughter a bit of distress...


Snow places a steaming mug of tea on the kitchen table in front of Emma and sits down opposite her with one of her own as they are taking a break from packing boxes for Snow's and David's move to their freshly acquired farm. The half-empty loft is quiet with their husbands slaving at the new house to put up some furniture.

Snow smiles at her daughter cheerfully. "So... spill."

"What?" Emma asks cluelessly.

"How are things?"

Emma frowns. "What things?"

"Oh come on, you know what I mean," Snow chuckles and repeats in a meaningful tone, " _Things_."

Emma is getting slightly exasperated. " _What_ things?!"

"Married life."

"Married life?" Emma echoes, still having no inkling whatsoever about her mother's intention. "What's that supposed to mean? It's... great? We're in love, we're happy–"

"How happy?" Snow interrupts, and Emma starts to get nervous. She really hopes this isn't turning out to be a _When will you make me a Grandma again?_ inquisition. She fully expects that subject to be brought up by her mother at some point, but after she's been married for barely two months?

"What do you expect me to say?" she asks carefully.

Snow sighs and rolls her eyes. "I'm talking about..." pausing for effect, she leans forward and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though they're alone, before she finishes, "... _marital bliss._ "

It still takes Emma a few seconds before the penny drops, but when it does, she grimaces like she's in pain. "Ewww Mom, really?"

"We're supposed to talk about these things, I'm your mother!" Snow defends herself immediately.

Emma huffs. "Yeah, well, it's _specifically_ the fact that you're my mother that makes this conversation so... weird."

Snow reaches across the table to put her hand on hers. "But Emma, we're almost the same age," she points out, "It's not like I'm a stranger to this." She wraps her hands around her mug and smiles dreamily. "I remember the first time David and I–"

"Mom!" Emma cuts her off in a panicky voice, before her mother continues and says something she won't be able to un-hear. She can barely resist the instinct to cover her ears, just in case.

" _What?!"_ Snow complains stubbornly.

"Seriously?"

Snow raises her eyebrows in slight disapproval. "I never took you for a prude, Emma."

"I'm not! But you're my _parents_!" Emma crinkles her nose in disgust. "Nobody wants to know that stuff about their parents, _ever!"_ Her voice is a little shrill, and she takes a deep breath before she continues a bit more calmly, "Plus, I have to _work_ with Dad, and I kinda don't want... _images_... in my head!" _Too late, she fears._ As if taco Tuesday wasn't enough.

"Oh, honestly. We're all adults here," Snow waves her off. "You could tell me things about you and Hook, and I'd still be able to look him in the eye."

 _Yeah, well, I wouldn't be so sure about that,_ Emma thinks and manages just-so to keep that thought to herself.

"He isn't your _dad!_ " she points out instead.

Snow shrugs nonchalantly. "Fine, we don't have to talk about me and your Dad." She lets go of her mug and rests her chin on her hand, looking at Emma expectantly. "Let's talk about you and that handsome son-in-law of mine."

Emma can only stare at her in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"I just wanna know..." Snow sways her head, looking for the right words for a moment, "if he lives up to all these innuendos. Also, three hundred years of experience should be good for something." Slowly, she raises her mug and takes a sip.. "I'm sure he learned a trick or two."

By this point, Emma is almost sure she's having a nightmare and prays she'll wake up soon. "Is this because I asked you to give back the key?"

Snow ignores her remark. " _Please_ tell me he doesn't take off the hook."

Emma blushes furiously, losing her temper now. _"Mary Margaret!"_

Snow all but hops up and down on her seat. "Oooh, so he _does_ keep it on!" she concludes and continues, to Emma's mortification, "Not so good for the lingerie, is it?" And _then_ she has the nerve to raise her eyebrow and cock her head in a _very_ familiar way. "But I bet totally worth it."

"Mom, I swear!" Emma growls, and Snow raises her hands in a soothing gesture.

"Okay okay, you don't have to talk about details," she concedes. "Even though I miss those girls' talks we used to have." Emma can't believe she's playing the guilt card and presses her lips together. She is not falling for her mother's tricks. "Anyway, just tell me..." Emma's toes curl in her boots, and she just _knows_ her mother was just trying to lull her into a false sense of security, and – _wait for it_ – there it comes, "Is he good?"

Her blush deepens. "I'm not telling you anything," she presses through clenched teeth.

Snow shrugs almost apologetically. "I just want you to be the happiest–"

"I _am_ happy!" Emma stresses and draws a deep breath, trying to keep her voice calm. Her mother's admission has softened her a bit; honestly, how can she ever resent her desire for her daughter's happiness?

Snow sways her head. "Okay, but on a scale from one to ten–"

Determined to convince her mother without giving away too much, Emma leans a little forward, fixes her eyes on Snow's and adopts a serious, soothing tone now. "Look, Mom, Killian makes me _very_ happy, in _every_ way," she points out, "and I've no complaints whatsoever." She leans back again, hoping she got her message through. "That's all you're getting from me."

Snow nods once, slowly, then smiles sweetly. "Well, I guess I'll just have to ask my new son-in-law instead." There's not even the slightest hint of a threat in her voice, and _that_ sends a chill down Emma's spine.

She narrows her eyes. "Don't. You. _Dare_."

Snow sips at her tea again, her cat-like green eyes never leaving her daughter's. "You know I will."

" _Mom!"_ Emma whines, feeling like a teenager now, the sour taste of defeat prickling on her tongue.

Snow slowly taps her index finger against her chin and furrows her brow, pretending to be pondering over her attack plan. "I think I'll just drop by tonight and bring him some chicken parm," she muses, "he loves it."

Emma throws her hands in the air in surrender. "Okay, fine!" she exclaims. " _Twelve!_ Okay?" Snow raises her eyebrows and tilts her head, and Emma says it again. "On a scale from one to ten, he's most definitely a twelve, probably a thirteen," she adds heatedly. "Are you happy now?"

Apparently, that did the trick, because Snow nods with a little satisfied smirk. "That's what I thought," she comments, more like talking to herself, and Emma slowly exhales through her nose, hoping to have ended that subject now, once and for all. After a pause, Snow murmurs pensively, "A thirteen, huh?"

Her outburst seems to have taken the edge off of Emma a bit, and even though she presses her lips together, the corners of her mouth tick up a little, just the tiniest bit, but of course, vigilant as she is, Snow notices. She narrows her eyes and puts down her mug. " _That_ good?" she asks, almost a little in awe.

Emma mirrors her mother's gesture and puts down her mug as well, her eyes fixed on the dark liquid in it. She can't believe she's getting into this now, but hey, sometimes she misses having girls' talks with her best friend, too, and she's not doing anything wrong here, and besides – _where's the lie?_ So she replies pointedly, " _That_ good."

"How?" Snow asks immediately and Emma's head snaps up, but before she can reply, Snow raises her hands in a soothing gesture. "I'm not talking about details. Just... in general." She looks at her daughter with so much open affection and lack of teasing that Emma knows, this isn't about some saucy curiosity. Snow is just reveling in her happiness.

She smiles softly. "He reads me," she tells her simply, "He _knows_ me." She shakes her head. "And I don't mean only when–"

Snow puts her hand over Emma's and interrupts her gently, "I know _exactly_ what you mean."

Emma is grateful that Snow doesn't elaborate any further, and for a bit both women just drink their tea in a quiet, serene atmosphere of mutual understanding and happiness.

Until Snow clears her throat. "Let's talk about MOs."

Emma has no idea what her mother means now, but the twinkle in her eyes is back, and that makes her nervous. "Why do I have the feeling this is not about police jargon?" she sighs.

Snow leans forward over her mug of tea. "Multiple orgasms!"


End file.
